


Knot That Easy

by babythor



Category: Leverage
Genre: Gen, Honeymoon, Meddling Kids, Relationship Intervention, Sweet With Gooey Center, Trapped In Elevator, World Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 20:10:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13131234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babythor/pseuds/babythor
Summary: The honeymoon was supposed to be the easy part.





	Knot That Easy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vicky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vicky/gifts).



> For Vicky, Merry Christmas!

The Brew Pub had become the central location for wedding planning, in part for the food, but mostly because Hardison’s giant, HD screen was ideal for how it enhanced every possible wedding-related web search. Hardison did concede that it had been invaluable when Sophie and Parker were researching venues.

If there happened to be a case, Sophie would very reluctantly surrender the viewing screen and move out into the dining room of the pub. Her tablet, her magazines, and whomever her assistant was that day would move with her. Typically, that would be Parker, or Nate, when his preferences should be put forth for consideration. Hardison and Eliot had both had their day of wedding planning with Sophie when questions about lighting and catering had come up.

Someone must have been smiling down on them that there was no case on the day Nate and Sophie tried to plan their honeymoon.

* * *

 

_Miami_

Nate sipped his whiskey sour, his concession to the heat, and tried to ignore the person who just laid out their towel slightly too close to his. He asked, “Aren’t you glad we decided not to go in order?”

“Quite. I would rather forget Miami while we’re in Europe, than forget Europe because of Miami.”

They squinted behind their heavily tinted sunglasses. It wasn’t the sun or the ocean that blinded them, but the crush of people.

Two days. That was the agreement. Two days of crowded beaches, suffocating humidity, and the overall unpleasantly surreal atmosphere of Florida. Sophie and Nate had stopped trying to be discreet about checking their watches and phones as they counted the hours until their flight.

“Oh, Miami, land of— _EW.”_ Never more had Sophie wished to be struck blind, but someone missed because she had gone mute instead.

Nate finished for her, with great horror and awe, “Land of septuagenarians in thongs.”

* * *

 

Eliot tasted the spoon he dipped in the chocolate ganache. He opened up the cinnamon to sniff, and poured a little as Nate came power-stomping into the kitchen. He recapped the cinnamon and reached for the nutmeg. Drawers opened and closed behind him, but no amount of pots clashing or cabinets slamming was going to make him take his eyes from making sure he ground the nutmeg, not his knuckles. Nothing, except, “Don’t you dare take the lid off that pot, Nate.”

He looked back down once he was satisfied with the distance between Nate and the simmering sauce. Maybe if he was really quiet, Nate would leave.

“Sophie is being completely unreasonable.” Eliot rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, as Nate tired of chumming the water to get Eliot’s attention. “She wants to travel the world, fine. But what’s wrong with doing it from the boat? It’s not like her idea is any better.

“If we used the boat, then we could come and go as we want, we wouldn’t have to stick to a schedule. We won’t have to worry about where we’re going to stay. We wouldn’t have to transport luggage. You know Sophie’s gonna want to shop. Really, I don't see what the problem is. What do you think, Eliot?”

Eliot cracked open the oven. “I don’t have a dog in this particular fight, Nate. Sorry, but I can’t help you.”

“’Sorry, can’t help you,’ that’s all you have to say?”

“Nate,” Eliot pulled the walnuts from the oven, “do I really have to explain why Sophie doesn’t want to spend days at a time on a small boat in the middle of the ocean?"

* * *

 

_New York_

Sophie spun around, the pleats in her overcoat fanning out like a figure skater. She held her arms out with her palms opened to the sky. “Oh, Nate, that was wonderful!”

She sighed as she twirled again, “I love _Madame Butterfly_.”

Nate caught her waist and reeled her in. He put her hand on his shoulder and pressed their free hands together, palm to palm.

They swayed, their rhythm an almost-waltz in front of the Met. “Where to next?” She asked as Nate spun them into a more complicated step.

“Mm.” He hummed as he looked out into the distance past Sophie’s shoulder. “I think dinner.”

“And where might we go?” Sophie smiled.

“Since I picked the entertainment, I think it’s fair that you pick where we eat.”

Sophie’s smile transformed into a Cheshire grin, “That’s a dangerous proposition, Mr Ford.”

“Lay on, Mrs Devereaux-Ford,” He taunted her with a wide grin of his own.

“I’m not hyphenating.”

“For the purposes of this conversation, you are.”

Sophie glared shakily, too much humor trying to break in her eyes and the corners of her mouth. Keeping her hand in his, she let him glimpse her smile as she turned away.

* * *

 

The mark’s wife walked into the gym for the Thursday spin class.

When they did their initial research, Jana DeVinne had seemed like a perfectly unremarkable HR supervisor, Philharmonic sponsor, and scrapbooker. Her husband was the mark, but after they began their con, something about her struck Eliot as odd. Parker told him to follow his hunch. Today was Day 2 on her tail.

“You know what Nate and I were fighting about the other day?” Sophie asked from the passenger seat. She had somehow finagled her way into accompanying him on his stakeout.

“Lemme guess. Honeymoon?”

“Eliot, did Nate talk to you? He talked to you, didn’t he?” Sophie huffed.

“For honesty’s sake, yes.” He tilted his head to Sophie with his eyes still on the gym, “But I’m pretty sure the whole Brew Pub knows what you were fighting about. You weren’t exactly quiet. It’s the particulars that no one knows. And I only got a little from Nate—hold on.”

Jana DeVinne came out in a sundress and sandals instead of the suit with elegant, office-appropriate heels. Eliot flicked his wrist to look at his watch. Her spin class was starting in two minutes.

She walked to the door of her pink Civic, then got into the passenger seat of the black BMW parked next to her. Eliot turned the ignition and pulled out to follow them.

“You know what he thought we should do? He thought we should go boating. Can you imagine? Boating. For a honeymoon.

“I thought that we should go to Europe. Everybody’s having spectacular, glamourous parties that time of year. Music, champagne, and ball gowns. Dancing every night. It’d be like a fairy tale. But Nate wouldn’t even consider it.”

“Sophie, would these be the kind of parties that are invitation-only?” Eliot glanced over as they came to a stoplight.

“Of course.”

Eliot spoke, hearing the déjà vu in the conversation and in his answer, “Sophie, do you really not get why Nate doesn’t want to grift his way across Europe for his honeymoon?”

* * *

 

_Marrakech_

They wandered through the souk, having spent the day before in la Ville Nouveau. Sophie found a beautiful, antique Berber carpet that would be perfect for the living room. She wanted to go to the carpet auction to find some rugs for the rest of the house that would complement the antique. There were a few hours until the auction, but there was plenty to see and do in the medina. It was more crowded than usual since the Folk Festival was supposed to start in two days.

Sophie looked over at Nate, discarding the leavings of the lunch they picked up in the Jemaa el-Fnaa. She talked him into wearing the babouche slippers—Moroccan walking shoes. His steps were soft as they wandered the alleyways in search of the way out of the medina. They had some time left to inspect different stalls and vendors before the midday heat set in. The spice alley was especially intriguing.

 They passed baskets and barrels of spices overflowing but for how they were sculpted into cones. Piles of turmeric and cinnamon rounded higher and higher with a flat blade until it came to a point so fine it could almost prick a finger. Vendors surrounded them on all sides. It was heady and intoxicating, like walking into the kitchen of a very talented chef. Sophie thought of Eliot and stopped to buy some spices, selecting only the most colorful and fragrant.

* * *

 

Sophie spun around at the walls of the elevator, carefully avoiding looking at Nate where he slouched haughtily in one corner, “This is unbelievable! Absolutely ridiculous! It’s—‘’

“ _Greetings, earthlings.”_

“Hardison!” She caught Nate’s smirk out of the corner of her eye. Sophie shouted up at the speaker, “Did you stop this elevator?”

_“Ya know somethin’? I did.”_ He had that grin. She could hear it.

“And why on Earth did you do that?”

_“I think Nate knows. Nate, you wanna share with the class?”_

He shrugged and straightened up, but laconic, not yielding. “Hardison thinks we need to resolve our differences. He also thinks that the time and place for that is right now in a locked elevator.”

Sophie rolled her eyes, “That’s not going to work.”

Nate turned his staring contest from the camera to Sophie—and anted one raised eyebrow. She stared back, unwilling to take the bait for what it was.

_“See? Already starting to work.”_

“Ah, Hardison. Unity against an opposing force isn’t exactly a foundation for an ‘open and honest’ conversation.”

Sophie sneered, “ _Arthashastra_ , Nate? Really?”

_“Arthur-who?”_

“Arth-a-shast-ra. ‘Enemy of my enemy is my friend.’”

_“Ooh, wrong move. Which brings me back to my original point.”_ Hardison paused. It was just long enough for emphasis, but not long enough for Sophie or Nate to derail his speech again. _“This is an intervention. I know what you’re thinking. We can’t force you to make up, and you’re right. But this whole not talking thing is going to make your wedding and the whole reciting of vows part pretty damn awkward. So talk. Because the sooner you talk, the sooner this elevator is no longer out of order.”_

“You can’t keep us in here forever, Hardison.”

“ _I’ll take that bet. Parker.”_

“Parker?”

The hatch she and Nate had tried after the first, unbearable ten minutes opened, and Parker’s wildly grinning face peeked down. “Catch!”

Sophie lunged, more guiding the bucket to the floor than actually catching it. She tossed one water bottle to Nate and cracked her own. Left inside were more water bottles and some sandwiches. At least Hardison had been thoughtful enough to get her favorite brand. Nate didn’t seem to notice the bottle in his hand as he started to get worked up. Sophie took a sip as Nate closed in. If he couldn’t intimidate Hardison in person, he could at least get to the camera.

Hardison cut him off at the pass, “ _Now that you know who two of the sponsors of this intervention are, it’s only fair that you know the third.”_

“No.” Sophie saw the look on Nate’s face, jaw-dropped incredulous horror and a confused and betrayed twist to his brow, reflected in one of the polished metal panels on the wall.

_“Come on, Nate. Who do you think made the sandwiches?”_

“So when you said, ‘we?’”

“ _I meant me, Parker,_ and _Eliot.”_

“Are you serious?”

“ _As a heart attack, Nate. You’re gonna figure this thing out. Just so you know, Parker brought me season 4 and 5 of Doctor Who, and I’ve got enough orange soda and gummy frogs to keep this going for however long it takes.”_

Ten minutes passed, then twenty, then forty. Nate had returned to his corner to glare at the camera. Sophie leaned, drank water, ignored Nate, gave in and ate part of a sandwich, drank water, ignored the camera, drank water, and paced. She had almost finished another lap across the elevator when she gave in and spoke to the camera, “Hardison, we’ve been in here long enough, just let us out.”

Sophie waited. And waited. “Hardison! I have to go to the bathroom, stop fooling around.”

After a moment, Hardison answered, “ _Unless you’ve been using telepathy this whole time, you haven’t been talking this thing out. That was the deal.”_

“Oh my God, Hardison! Just let us out!”

_“Mm. No can do.”_

“Yes, you can! You let me out, now!”

“ _You know, Sophie, we prepared for this eventuality. We gave you everything you would need in order to wait it out until you were ready to talk.”_

Sophie was about to argue that, but her mouth was too dry and she couldn’t get a sound out. She cleared her throat and started over—and then stopped. Her mouth was dry. She looked up at the vent. The A/C had been blowing this whole time; she never heard it stop and start up again. The sandwiches had been spread with cream cheese instead of mayonnaise. There were six bottles of water in the bucket. She drank two and even Nate finished one.

She looked down at the bucket. Nate looked perplexed, but Sophie could see the gears start to turn.

“Hardison! Turn the volume down on your end,” Sophie ordered.

_“Y’all ready to talk, then? You know you’re asking a lot of faith on my part, for turning the sound down, honor among thieves and all that. You could be talking all kinds of gibberish—”_

“Hardison!”

_“All right, all right. Fine.”_

“Thank you,” Nate addressed the camera.

_“What was that? I can’t hear you.”_

“I said, thank you.”

_“What?”_

“I said, THANK _—_ ” Sophie was biting a hole in her lip trying to hold in her giggles. Nate was gasping and sputtering at a total loss. The harder he tried to recover, the pinker Nate got. One snort got past, and that was it.

Nate joined in when Sophie’s hysteria became too irresistible. It felt like they laughed for hours, though in truth it was only a few minutes. They looked at each other, dizzy and smiling, sitting on the floor without any idea how they got there. Nate spoke first.

“I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.”

Nate scooted over toward Sophie, so he could take her hand. She flipped her palm and threaded their fingers. Without a look, without a word, they forgave each other.

* * *

 

_Paris_

“Rise and shine!”

Sophie pushed her face into her pillow and groaned. She stuck out an arm and blindly pat the nightstand for her phone. Once she had it, arm and phone disappeared back underneath the covers. A moment passed before the pillow groaned again, louder. Sophie lifted her face just far enough to be intelligible, “It’s seven-thirty, Nate!”

“Well, yes. You’re going to need an early start if you want to find a gown, and help me pick a tuxedo. We only have a week.”

The covers pulled back and revealed a mat of wild hair. “A week in Paris? I thought we were going to stay longer than that. And why do I need a gown?”

Nate smiled and knelt next to the bed. He took one of Sophie’s hands and said, “Because we’re going to Austria.”

She finally showed her face, “Nate…”

“We’re going to Wiener Festwochen.”

“But Vienna isn’t on our list?”

He cradled her hand against his lips, then pulled away, “I think we can make an exception. As for the gown, the woman I married ought to attend at least one ball on her honeymoon. Why not the Concordia?”

Sophie flipped the covers back and stumbled full-speed out of bed.

* * *

 

“Sophie? Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Parker. What is it?”

“It’s just that—you know,” Parker swallowed, “I’ve been learning how to like things, and Eliot and Nate were helping me at first, but we all got busy, and. And I was starting to _like_ art. Anyway, I was wondering,” She paused, then asked in a small voice, “Would you take pictures for me?”

“Pictures of what, Parker?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t know food was art until Eliot showed me. He said art is feeling something and then sharing that feeling. And I—” Parker made a sort of clasping motion. She paused, trying to collect herself, “I think that what I would like is for when you see something and you feel something when you look at it, you take a picture. And when you come back and show me your pictures, maybe I’ll feel something when I see it, too.”

Sophie thought of binge watching _Say Yes to the Dress_ , and how any time she liked something Parker would sketch the dress, label and identify the details and specs.

Parker collated all the data after a few marathons. She showed it to Sophie. Everything was there, the fabrics she liked best, the styles, the patterns; florets or crystals, embroidery or lace, finished or unfinished edges.

When they went shopping together, Sophie knew the dress the moment she saw it. It was perfect in every possible way. Sophie looked in the mirror and saw everything she dreamed of being as a bride. She was a princess, and a fairy, and an angel, all at once. She looked at Parker then, wearing her perfect dress with the myriad clips holding it up, and couldn’t help but cry.

Sophie nodded, only her skill keeping the sting of coming tears from being noticeable. There was fright beneath Parker’s earnestness, but there was so much less than when Parker first began to ask for things.

She’d take Parker’s pictures. She would.

* * *

 

_Interlude on a Train_

Sophie watched mountains and valleys go by outside her window. The purple and yellow smears of wildflowers, snowcapped peaks, and drops more shear than a razor’s edge. It all made her heart feel too full for her chest, the same way she felt whenever she remembered that she and Nate are married.

It was a happy feeling, so happy that it almost hurt. She tried to hold onto it, as tight as she could while she dug the camera out of her bag.

* * *

 

The fire cast a warm light on Sophie’s face in the dark room. She watched as the fire crackled and sparked, the pieces of wood that broke away into ash. Her wine glass hung forgotten in her hand. Sophie wondered why it was so difficult to celebrate something so right.

It was as if they knew, from the very beginning, when he shot her and she shot him that they belonged to one another. No matter who they loved, or how far they ran, a part of each of them had been lost to the other. That was the way it would be.

Sophie got up and turned on a lamp, thinking absently how unjust it was that one could not brood in a dark room and read a gothic novel at the same time.

The bookshelves along one wall were hardly sufficient. They added another and another and another. Any time their collection exceeded the space, Sophie and Nate bought a new bookshelf.

One finger ran along the spines as Sophie searched for the title she wanted. There! She pulled _Jane Eyre_ off the shelf and cracked it open.

“ _I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you—especially when you are near me, as now: it is as if I had a string somewhere underneath my left ribs tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame. And if that boisterous Channel, and two hundred miles or so of land came broad between us, I fear that cord of communion would be snapt; and then I’ve a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly.”_

Sophie smiled and stuffed the book back on the crowded shelf.

Turning on lights and lamps and letting the last embers flicker away, Sophie cut herself off in obeisance to her rule regarding excessive brooding. It was all well and good, because it didn’t give her anymore ideas about what she and Nate should do for their honeymoon.

It didn’t help that they had already covered so much of the globe during the years that she ran and he chased. It felt like anywhere and everywhere she could think of already had their mark on it. Sophie wished that those places had been substantial enough to lay their foundation on, the solid foundation they spent years building after they finally cleared away the thorns and broken glass left behind when they ran after the mystery and excitement.

A minute later, and Sophie leapt up from the couch to find a pen and notepad.

* * *

 

_Tuscany_

A shadow fell over page 54 of _The Girl on the Train_. Sophie looked up as Nate leaned down for a kiss. She smiled as he pulled away. “What was that for?”

Nate smiled back and came in for another. He settled next to her on the chaise lounge. Sophie snuggled closer until she was under his arm with her head tucked into his shoulder. She left her book open next her and looked at the view from their terrace.

Green and gold hills rose and fell with ribbons of unpaved road laying over and around them. The sky was so clear, she could see the tidy rows of grape vines in the vineyard miles away. In the morning twilight, the sky is so purple and a dense, silver mist swallows the valley like an ocean. The hills disappear, the very tallest forming lonely green islands. The mist blends the sky and land until there is nothing left to distinguish one from the other.

“Can we buy it?” They had a week left in the villa.

“Yes. Or one like it.” He stroke circles on her arm with his thumb.

They watched clouds form and dissipate. Sophie rose and fell with the rhythm of Nate’s breath. She could feel him get ready to speak underneath her ear.

“Have you decided yet?”

“Decided what?” Sophie wondered. “Chicago?” she said, once her head cleared.

Nate sounded a little dreamy, too, when he answered, “Yeah. Chicago.”

She thought about leaving Tuscany, and Italy. She thought about going home. Sophie thought about Chicago.

“You came looking for me. Tracked me down and asked me to come with you. That’s what this trip was about. We came back to all the places we ran into each other when it was your job to chase me and my job to run. There’s no more chase, no more what-if, no more dancing around temptation to see how close we can get without falling in,” Sophie paused, “It’s real now. In all the ways it wasn’t back then.”

She gathered her thoughts for a minute before she continued, “I think, in Chicago, you were still chasing me. That whole first job together, we teased and tempted each other, playing with that same fire. You never asked me to join the team. You dared me to take all the skills we used to against each other and combine them to use against someone else. It was still a game for both of us in Chicago.”

“Then we go. We close the last door,” He squeezed Sophie gently.

They stared in silence for a while, breathing together. Nate whispered something Sophie couldn’t make out. “Hm?”

He shifted a bit, jostling Sophie, then settled again. He spoke softly, “It’s beautiful.”

“What?” Sophie moved, trying to recover that perfectly aligned snuggle.

She found her place again and looked up at Nate. He looked down at her and said, “Everything.”

**Author's Note:**

> My eternal gratitude to Fleur for all your help and mercy


End file.
